No Matter
by Altezio
Summary: John/Sherlock - Post Reichenbach fall - after literally stumbling over Sherlock in a dark alley it's up to John to put the brilliant man back together again, as well as deal with his own mixed feelings. H/C - Warnings inside - rated M for a reason.
1. Let the Rain Fall

Title: No Matter (How much you've changed I'll still love you)  
>Author: Altezio<br>Fandom: Sherlock BBC  
>Pairing: JohnSherlock w/ side pairings along the way  
>Rating: Pg-13 – NC-17<br>Chapters: 1/15  
>Chapter word count: 3,140<br>Disclaimer: I won nothing but the plot. I am just playing in the wonderfully provided sandbox with the wonderful characters.  
>Warnings: Post S2E3, mentions of drug use, mentions of abuse, swearing, eventual mm relationship, sex, and slash. More warnings as the story goes along.  
>Summary: It had been five months since Sherlock had walked off the roof, and John was trying to move on with his life. But then he finds Sherlock laying nearly dead in the gutter on night, and takes him home. But Sherlock isn't the same, and its Johns job to find him again and bring him back.<p>

Chapter One  
>Let the Rain Fall<p>

John didn't mind the rain. In fact he found he rather enjoyed it. So when it started after his date with a pretty brunette he had met while at work, he helped her hail a cab, and bid her good night, politely declining her invitation back to her place. He watched the black cab as it drove away before turning and heading back towards Baker Street. Smiling to himself he looked up at the darkened sky loving the feeling of the cool rain hitting his face. He released a soft sigh before turning back to the task at hand.

Despite his love of the rain he wanted to get home quicker. He could feel the rain starting to soak into his clothes and touch his skin. Shrugging his shoulders to get some of the rain off, he made a quick turn and started down a long alley. Before he had met Sherlock he hadn't even thought about using the allies, but Sherlock had a love of running around the city and dragging Sherlock along so naturally John had a pretty good map of all of London's. It was handy in situations such as these when the rain was pouring and he wanted to get home fast.

Before he got too far down the alley, John made sure to make a mental note of any and all homeless people that had decided to make this long stretch their home until the rain had stopped. Their weren't to many so it made getting through easier and faster—less people to beg for money. He was almost through the alley when his foot caught and he tumbled to the ground. Groaning in pain, he pushing himself up on his forearms and looks back, only to see a body stretched out of the cold ground. Letting out a breath, he sat up, quickly adjusting himself so he could get a better look at the figure.

At first glance it didn't look like they were breathing, but when John reached out to touch them the person drew in a deep breath—one you would hear if you were surfacing water for the first time—and then let out a watery sounding cough. The person curled into themself, trying to fill their lungs with as much air as they could.

He didn't know why he did, but something inside John told him not to just leave this person without at least checking to make sure they were really okay. Reaching down he cradled the persons head and let out a shocked breath. The man's eyes were screwed shut in what John could only guess was pain, but he could clearly make out the facial structure of Sherlock Holmes. There was also a bone deep feeling that made John even surer of the person's identity. There was nobody in London that could even compare to the way Sherlock looked, and how he made John feel.

Never mind Sherlock was supposes to be dead—he would worry about that later—he needed to make sure the man was alright. The way Sherlock was breathing had the doctor worry. Reaching up with his free hand, John pushed a lock of muddy black hair out of Sherlock's face, and ran a wet hand over his face. The younger man moaned softly and moved away from the touch. Just from looking at him, John could tell Sherlock was sick. The younger man was feverish, his skin was pale, and his eyes were slightly sunken in with dark circles around them. Just looking at him made John worry what he would find under the younger man's clothes.

Swallowing hard John glanced around. He knew what he needed to do, but having Sherlock in his arms was making everything just blur together. He finally snapped out of it when Sherlock shivered violently making John look down at him. The rain was doing nothing to improve the younger man's condition, so as gently as he could he lifted Sherlock and headed in the direction of Baker Street.

He tried to push the worry out of his mind at how light Sherlock was now. He had been jumped on plenty of times by Sherlock and while he was by no means heavy, he wasn't light either. He knew he was going to have his work cut out for him the moment he got home. He was already making a mental note of what he would have to do. Despite all of that though, John couldn't push the feeling of elation he was having at having Sherlock back in his life.

He had tried to stomp the feelings of attachment, and then love when he had realized what they had been, but it hadn't done him any good. Sherlock was something else and John was like a moth to his brilliant flame. Almost everything Sherlock did had John secretly smiling even if it was the most insane thing in the world. It didn't matter because it was Sherlock.

It had nearly killed him when he had seen Sherlock standing on the edge of the roof. He had felt his heart in his throat on a number of occasions, but never as strongly as he had felt it then. The phone call had been the worst of his life when Sherlock had said his goodbye, and then he had walked off. There had been no explanation, not grand magic trick, just the solid crunch of Sherlock's body hitting the ground. John didn't believe in magic, but he found himself wishing Sherlock would jump up and smile at John the way he did when he was making a point, and then they would walk back to Baker Street and laugh about it. But as the seconds ticked by, and Sherlock didn't jump but the sinking feeling in his stomach grew more and more, and then the desperation set in. Sherlock was really dead. He wasn't coming back. John was alone again…but Sherlock wasn't dead. He was in his arms right now and he looked like shit.

Pushing the thoughts out of his head John picked up his pace, wanting to get Sherlock back home as quickly as he could. It didn't take him any time at all before he was emerging onto the empty road of Baker Street. Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, John dashed to the door, and pushed it open. Once inside he took a moment to catch his breath before starting towards the stairs.

Before he could get their though Mrs. Hudson hurried out of her flat, the smile falling from her face the moment she saw John with a mud covered figure in his arms. Looking up at him in shock she spoke, "John what have you done?"

He didn't grace her with an answer—knowing she would follow him anyways-he just dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He pushed open the door to his flat, and made a B-line to the bathroom. As gently as he could he set Sherlock against the wall, making sure he wouldn't fall over and turned to the bathtub. He was grateful Sherlock had fallen back into unconsciousness during his trip back home, it made maneuvering him that much easier.

"John Wats—oh!" Mrs. Hudson stopped the moment she stepped into the bathroom as saw Sherlock leaning against the wall. Falling to her knee's in front of him she gingerly reached out and touched his face before looking at John. The doctor was watching her, his expression unreadable as she gently touched Sherlock, "Where did you find him?" she questioned softly.

John laughed humorlessly, "I quite literally fell over him." He said flinging water off his hands when he was sure it was warm enough.

The woman moaned sadly and scooted away as John reached over to start stripping him. She watched as John gently pulled off the wet scraps of cloth, and discarded them in a small pile, before gently scooping him up and setting him in the water. Picking up the cloth she watched John for a moment longer before turning and leaving.

John listened to Mrs. Hudson leave before he started the task of cleaning off the younger man. Just like he had suspected the damage was much worse under the clothes. John could see what seemed like every bone in Sherlock's body, bruises littered his pale skin, and there were scars in every phase of healing all over his body. The worst though was the cut that started at his right hip, and ended just below his rib cage. The cut was red and puffy and looked extremely painful. He would have to make sure Sherlock got tested soon. Out in the streets of London you never knew what the knife that had stabbed you had been used for before.

As soon as he was finished washing the dirt, and who knows what else of Sherlock's body, John emptied out the water and refilled it. He wanted to make sure he got everything. As soon as the tub was filled again, John sat back and looked at Sherlock. Really looked at him. He was still the beautiful and mysterious creature he had fallen in love with, but now he could see the cracks. At first he had wondered if there even were any, but now he could really see them. John released a shaky breath, and ran his hand over Sherlock's now clean face.

Tears he had refused to shed when he realized Sherlock wasn't coming back now feel in long slow lines down his face. He had gone back to counseling a month after Sherlock had jumped—a suggestion by Lestrade—and the woman had been surprised at Johns lack of tears. As the sessions went on, she started to question why he was acting as if he had lost a long time love. She suggested to him on numerous occasions that he get back into the dating scene and forget about Sherlock because it made no logical sense as to why he was acting like this.

As soon as he could John stopped going to see her again. But he did take one of her suggestions. He started dating in an attempt to fill the whole Sherlock had left in his heart. None of them ever amounted to anything, and soon they all became Johns attempt to forget about the pain.

He had been so concerned about all the other damage that had been done to Sherlock that he didn't notice the tiny bruises that littered Sherlock's arms. Wiping the tears away he reached into the water and lifted his arms hoping to god he wasn't going to find what he thought he would. Lining his arms, along the blue veins where tiny little needle marks. John released a breath and looked up at Sherlock's face. The man had fallen back into his old habits again. The habit he had promised he had kicked.

Cursing softly to himself he rubbed the bridge of his nose with the palm of his hand. He had been prepared to deal with the fallout of whatever abuse Sherlock had suffered while out on the streets, but now he had to deal with this! Cocaine addiction was something completely different. It was harder and more painful. Sherlock had been a pain when he hadn't had a smoke, John couldn't even imagine what cocaine withdrawal was going to be like.

Breathing in aggravation, he tried to hold in the angry tears, but they fell regardless. "Why'd you have to do this Sherlock?" he whispered his voice hoarse, "Why? Why'd you have to go walk of a roof and not tell anyone why? Obviously you're alive so it was some magic trick wasn't it…or was it just to prove a point?" John stared at the unconscious man for a long moment before speaking again, this time his voice soft, and broken, "I wouldn't have told anyone if that's what you wanted. I would have done anything for you…why didn't you come home Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson watched John from the doorway, a set of new clothes in hand. She listened to him as he spoke softly to Sherlock, asking him why he had done what he had done. You'd have to be a fool to miss the look of complete adoration on Johns face as he looked down at Sherlock. John hadn't told her how he felt about Sherlock, but she had known. He was happier when Sherlock was around. And she couldn't help but notice the way John watched him, and how he smiled when he entered the room. John was absolutely besotted with Sherlock.

So when Sherlock had jumped it hadn't surprised her how badly it had affected John. He had stopped living at 221B for a long while. He continued to pay the rent, but he was never there. When he did finally come back he wasn't the same. She would listen to him scream at night, and it broke her heart every time. She also started noticing the strange new look in his eye. At first she couldn't place it, but then one of her friends husbands died, and she saw it again. It was the look of someone who missed their lover so much they wanted nothing more than to go and see them again, regardless of the people they would be leaving behind. The look concerned her greatly. She didn't want to lose another person she cared about.

She had thought when he started dating again everything would be better, but the look was still there. Eventually the screaming had stopped, but then the sleepless nights started. She would watch as John would sit by one of the windows and just stare at the sky. He had looked so sad, and she wished there was something she could do to help him.

The older woman was just glad Sherlock was back again. Broken or not, he was still back and that meant John could start healing. Setting the extra set of clothes down on the toilet seat, she put a comforting hand on Johns shoulder before turning and heading downstairs. She would come back up and check on them in the morning.

-x-

"Mycroft Holmes speaking."

"_I found him Mycroft. I found Sherlock." _

-x-

John sat the phone down on the bed side table and sat down on the chair he had placed beside the bed. Mycroft had hung up the phone immediately so he was sure he was on his way by now. Releasing a breath, John leaned back into his chair and stared at Sherlock. His breathing was still off, but he was resting comfortably now, not lying somewhere in the gutter. He had stitched up the gash on his stomach as best he could, with his set of tools he had kept at him in case of situations such as these, and bandaged him up. He hadn't given him anything for the pain, due to the fact that he didn't know what all Sherlock had in his system at the moment, and didn't want to risk him killing Sherlock. So at the moment Sherlock was doing pretty well.

He had only woken up once since Sherlock had brought him into the house, and that was right after he had finished sewing him up. Sherlock had opened his eyes, looking around frantically and in a total panic. John had rested a hand on his chest and spoke softly to him. Sherlock had looked at him for a moment before recognition had struck and a small smile had flashed across his features. "John," he had said before quickly passing out again.

It had been probably the happiest moment of John's life. Sherlock remembered him. He knew he probably would, but there was always that chance. He didn't know what Sherlock had been through, but he was sure it was enough that it probably would have made a sane person go insane, and Sherlock was far from sane. At this point he wasn't going to try and get anything from him until he was sure Sherlock was well and truly on the road to recovery. He didn't want to risk any sort of relapse.

Before he let Mycroft near Sherlock, he would have to make sure the older Holmes understood this. He didn't want any sort of fighting going on. His main concern was getting Sherlock better and if that meant Mycroft not being around until later then so be it.

John ran a wet cloth over Sherlock's forehead just as the doorbell rang downstairs. He struggled with himself not knowing if he wanted to go and greet Mycroft himself or stay with Sherlock. Eventually he chose the second, wanting to make sure Sherlock was still really there, and wasn't going to disappear the moment he looked away. He listened as Mrs. Hudson let Mycroft up the stairs before standing and walking to the entrance of Sherlock's room.

Mycroft walked in, a dangerous look on his face, "Mr. Watson I advise you cease whatever game you are trying to play before you regret it."

John stared at Mycroft for a long moment before speaking, "You wouldn't be here though if you didn't think it might be true. You would have told me that over the phone rather than making your way all the way over here."

The older Holmes glared at John for a moment before glancing over his shoulder, "Well, where is he then?"

John glanced back, almost wanting to tell the other man that he was really just joking so he could have Sherlock all to himself. But he couldn't do that to him. They had both been wrecks when he Sherlock had jumped. So he took a deep breath and gestured for Mycroft to follow. He was about to tell Mycroft not to do anything that would affect Sherlock when the man rushed past him, and fell to his knee's beside the bed.

He grabbed Sherlock's hand and rubbed at the cool skin of his knuckles, "Sherlock?" he whispered against his skin, "Sherly? Oh Sherlock…what have you done to yourself?"

TBC…

A/N: So did you like it? I hope you liked it, cuz I actually really like it. I needed to write something sad, and something long so I decided that I would write this. This is my first Sherlock fic of any kind, but I fell in love with the bbc characterization and had to do something. So I hope you like. All mistakes are mine and will be fixed as soon as I see them—or they are pointed out to me. Feedback is loved and appreciated, so have at the and tell me what you think. Thank you for reading :D too.


	2. Breathe

Title: No Matter (How much you've changed I'll still love you)  
>Author: Altezio<br>Fandom: Sherlock BBC  
>Pairing: JohnSherlock w/ side pairings along the way  
>Rating: Pg-13 – NC-17<br>Chapters: 1/15  
>Chapter word count: 3,140<br>Disclaimer: I won nothing but the plot. I am just playing in the wonderfully provided sandbox with the wonderful characters.  
>Warnings: Post S2E3, mentions of drug use, mentions of abuse, swearing, eventual mm relationship, sex, and slash. More warnings as the story goes along.  
>Summary: It had been five months since Sherlock had walked off the roof, and John was trying to move on with his life. But then he finds Sherlock laying nearly dead in the gutter on night, and takes him home. But Sherlock isn't the same, and its Johns job to find him again and bring him back.<p>

Chapter Two  
>Breathe<p>

It had been two days since John had found Sherlock laying in the middle of the alley, and the younger man had yet to wake up. John had stayed awake most of those two days, not wanting to be asleep when Sherlock finally woke. Every once in a while he would take little cat naps, but that wasn't working as well as it had when he had first started doing this. Letting out a breath, he laid back and looked at the sleeping man. He was still incredibly pale and sick looking, but John could already see some improvement. The bruises on his body—except the ones from under his eye's—had already started to fade, turning from the blackish purple color to a nasty shade of yellow. His cuts were starting to heal up better, and he didn't have a fever anymore.

The doctor was sure he was going to wake up soon, and while he was excited at the prospect of having Sherlock back, he was worried about what kind of emotional damage had been done to the man. John was just making guesses as to what happened to him, but he wanted to know what really happened and how he had gone spiraling down so fast and far.

Sighing again, John relaxed back into his chair, and folded his arms in front of his chest. He could feel his eye's drooping but he didn't really care. Sherlock would wake up eventually but he highly doubted it would be the one time he actually decided to take a nap that lasted longer than a couple minutes. Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out slowly. He repeated the process a couple times before he actually nodded off.

-x-

Sherlock's eye's fluttered open slowly. When the light hit his irises, he squeezed them shut with a soft groan. After a moment he opened them again, trying to get them adjusted to the light. When it didn't hurt so much he looked around the room he was in. It wasn't the same room he had fallen asleep in…then again he hadn't been in a room when he fell asleep so that was a bit off putting. She shifted slightly, but let out another soft groan. Everywhere hurt more than he had remembered it. Closing his eyes he drew in a couple of deep breaths before opening them again.

His eye's scanned the room and after a moment realization dawned on him. He was back at 221B Baker Street. How he had gotten there was beyond him, but he was there, and laying in his old room. Slowly—as to now elicit more pain—he rolled over and looked around. The room was a lot more cluttered than it had been when he had left, but that was probably due all his personal belongings being stores in here. His eye's moved around the room until they finally landed on John who was resting—quite uncomfortably looking—on a chair that had been dragged in here sometime in the last couple of days.

Blinking slowly Sherlock stared at John, taking in everything and burning it into his memory. John had changed since the last time they had seen each other. John looked older, and more worn. He briefly wondered what could have caused it, but as quickly as the thought entered his mind so did the answer. It had been his fault that John now looked a few years over his age. If he hadn't have jumped of the roof the new lines that had made their selves comfortable on his face would never had been there…then again if Sherlock hadn't have jumped John would be dead, and there was a very high possibility that Sherlock would have been too.

Sherlock pulled the blanket closer around him and watched John as he slept for a few minutes longer. Saying he hadn't missed 221B would have been a lie…than again Sherlock didn't think it was really the flat that held his attention as much as he liked to believe. He had learned a lot of things about himself in the months he had been dead.

He didn't know how long he watched John sleep, but finally the doctor stirred. His eyes fluttered open and he stared straight ahead of him for a moment before turning and looking at Sherlock. He must not have really seen him because he immediately turned back, his eyes wide, and a look of relief on his face. Jumping up he crouched down beside the bed and stared at Sherlock, his mouth working furiously trying to say something. Sherlock hadn't realized how much he had missed John until that moment. He twitched the other man a slight smile and shifted slightly. He tried to hide the wince, but John knew him to well and looked him over with a critical eye.

"You're awake," he said when his eyes finally landed on Sherlock's again.

"I am," he croaked back. It had been a long time since he had said anything and while it hurt it was nice to talk to John again.

John shook his head, "Of course you had to pick the first time I actually decided to take a real nap." He laughed humorlessly, and sighed, "You've always kinda went by the beat of your own drum haven't you." The smile fell of his face moment later as he got into doctor mode, "how are you feeling Sherlock?" he asked him finally.

Sherlock considered the question for a moment. He probably could get away with not telling John the truth, but he didn't want to risk lying and getting caught, so he opted with the truth, "I feel…out of sorts I guess…like I'm not really all here."

John nodded, and pushed Sherlock's bangs out of his face. He felt his forehead with the back of his wrist and nodded to himself. "Alright, now how's the pain on a scale of 1—being the lowest—and 10—being the highest."

Again Sherlock considered the question. He was in a mild amount of pain, but he could ignore it if he stayed still. Now that he was really and truly awake he could feel the itch that he had felt all too recently. He needed his fix. If he was back at Baker Street that meant there was no way for him to get it unless he snuck out and got it. But by the way John was watching him that didn't look very likely. He would have to find a way to get it somehow or he was going to die.

John watched Sherlock as he considered the question. It had been a long time since he had seen Sherlock, but he could still read him better than most everyone—the exception being Mycroft. The look on his face told him there was something else that he was considering, and if John had to guess it was probably cocaine. He had seen plenty of cocaine addicts in his line of work, and John could easily tell when they needed their fix. It was early for Sherlock, usually John had to deal with them when they were so desperate they would do anything.

"Sherlock?" he said his voice gentle.

Sherlock looked at John and stared at him for a long moment before finally speaking, "My pain is around a 3." He said.

John stared at his friend for a long moment before shaking his head, "Sherlock don't lie to me. You can lie to just about anyone else but don't lie to me. I can see it in the way you're holding your body. You're in pain. So don't lie. How bad is your pain?"

"It's manageable."

John folded his arms in front of his chest and scowled at the other man. They stared at each other for a long while before Sherlock finally looked away. John smiled and sat back, "It's alright Sherlock. You don't have to lie to me."

The doctor watched as the blankets were pulled a little bit tighter around the younger man. Sherlock stared of in to space for a moment before looking back at John, "My body hurts." He said after a moment. "I feel raw, and stretched, and in pain."

John nodded, "I can give you something for that. It's not much—since we aren't at a hospital, but it will take the edge off."

Sherlock just nodded and watched as John stood up and walked out of the room. Sherlock thought about making his escape so he could find his fix, but there was something holding him there. Maybe it was John, maybe it was the thought of a warm place to stay again that made him decide not to run, he would think about it when John wasn't walking back into the room with a couple pills in his hand.

The younger man winced slightly as he shifted, but held out his hand despite the pain. John gave him a disapproving look, but dropped the pills into the outstretched hand. He watched as Sherlock popped the pills and swallowed them dry before sitting down and staring at Sherlock. They sat in silence for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts. John was thinking about what how to ask him all the questions he had been dying to ask, while Sherlock was trying to figure out the reason he hadn't just left the moment he had woken up, and what he was currently feeling.

Finally John could take it no longer. "Sherlock, why did you do it? why did you not tell anyone you were alive?" he paused for a moment, "Why did you let it get this bad?"

"I don't understand what you mean." Sherlock said after a moment.

"I mean why did you let it get to the point where you fell back into you're addiction. I thought you said you were clean."

The younger man couldn't help but feel shame. He had known John probably knew about his recent fall back into drugs. What kind of doctor would he be if he had just passed over the obvious marks on his arms? "I…I don't know." That was another lie. He knew exactly how he had gotten to the point he was at. He had been bored, and there was no one to keep him in line so he went out and easily found some of the drug that had probably been the thing that ruined his life. From there it had just gone downhill. Only when he was bored turned in to an almost everyday thing and so on and so forth till finally he just didn't care anymore, he would have done…he had done anything to get his next fix and he hadn't cared.

John shook his head and leaned back in his chair, "Sherlock."

Sherlock looked back at John, his eyes filled with so many emotions John didn't know what exactly he was looking at. The younger man was silent for a moment before finally saying, "It was inevitable John."

-x-

Sherlock hadn't stayed awake for very long, but John had managed to get something in his stomach. Sure it was just a couple of saltine crackers, but that was something and in Johns eyes that was progress. Now that he was sure Sherlock wasn't ever going to wake up, John decided it would be fine to sit in the main room and watch a bit of telly. His attempts though fell flat, as what Sherlock said swam around in his mind.

Sherlock thought falling back into his old habits was inevitable? But why? He didn't really understand why he had done it in the first place, but in the next couple of weeks he was going to have to. He knew he was going to have to delve into the mind of Sherlock anyways, but he hadn't thought it was going to be this soon…or this difficult!

Oh well. He would deal with all of this when Sherlock woke up again. For right now, he would just lose himself in the telly.

-x-

"_-lock…SHERLOCK!" _

_Sherlock blinked and looked around the small room he was in. It was very cramped, with a desk to one side a bed on the other and a small tv that was sitting on a dresser. Finally his eyes landed on the man who had been trying to get his attention only moments ago. What was is name again Jason? Jeremy? No…no it was Joe. Joe was watching him with a raised brow, and his arms folded in front of his chest. _

"_You want to do this Sherly? Or are you chickening out." _

_Sherlock shook his head, his dark curls bouncing as he moved. Under normal circumstances he would never be caught dead doing this, or being anywhere near here, but things were different now, and he needed his fix. "I need this." _

_Joe smiled and nodded shifting his posture a bit, "that's what all of them say." He laughed. Sherlock swallowed hard and trying to prepare himself for what he was about to do. Joe was tall—taller than him—with dull blond hair, and hard green eyes. His muscular body was lines with bruises, and old scars that Sherlock could only imagine came from fights. _

_Sherlock wasn't intimidated by many people because he knew he could take most anyone who came at him, but this man had an air about him, that made Sherlock a little weary. _

_The other man walked towards the bed, coming to a stop between Sherlock's legs. He stared down at the younger man for a moment before leaning down and pressing his lips against Sherlock's. Never in his life had Sherlock wanted to throw up. Joe tasted like something old, and rancid. He wanted to push Joe off him, but then the chances of him getting what he came for was gone, and he would have to find another way of getting it. _

_Swallowing back the bile that threatened to come up, he opened his mouth and let Joe's tongue enter his mouth. After a moment Joe pulled back and raised a brow, "Kiss me like you mean it," he said before capturing Sherlock's lips again. _

_Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed against Joe. The kiss was slow and sloppy, but grew as Joe crawled onto the bed, pinning Sherlock beneath his larger body. Sherlock pulled his face away and let out a breath as the larger man kissed down the side of his neck. His hands pushed up under his shirt, making Sherlock shiver in disgust. _

_Joe pulled away slightly and chuckled, "Never had a virgin before." He laughed against Sherlock's neck, "I'll try not to hurt you, but I make you no promises." _

_Another wave of nausea bubbled in Sherlock's gut. He knew why he was doing this, but the logical part of his brain—the part he had worked so hard to shut down—was screaming at him to get out of here. He was pulled out of his thoughts when Joe wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and pulled him up against his chest. "Are you ready for me Sherly?" _

"_No." Sherlock shook his head, "No, no, NO!" _

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up, not caring about the pain, "NO!"

John put a hand on Sherlocks chest to stop him from moving any more than he had to. "Sherlock, Sherlock calm down. You're alright. Your safe, calm down."

The younger man tangled his hands in his hair and brought his knee's up so he was curled up a little more. "Nonononono,"

John stared at Sherlock , his eyes clouded with worry. What had made Sherlock act like this? What had his dream been about? He went to touch the other man, but as soon as he saw the hand coming towards him he jerked away. Curling his hands, John pulled away and settled for just watching him. He wanted to help, but it looked like there would be way until Sherlock let him.

The doctor listened as Sherlock's breathing evened out and the panicked look faded away. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock shook his head and laid down on the bed. Slowly John reached down and pulled the blanket over Sherlocks trembling body, his hand gently brushing over Sherlocks back. When he didn't immediately pull away, he took it as a good sign and began rubbing small soothing circles into the other man's back.

"What was that about?" he asked softly, "You were freaking out."

"Nothing John,"

"Sherlock…"

"It was nothing."

John wanted to scream at the younger man not let shut him out, but he knew that would do nothing for him so he sighed and leaned back a bit, "Alright." He started to stand up to leave—thinking Sherlock wanted to be alone—but before he could even get halfway up a hand came and grabbed at his sleeve. Jumping slightly John looked down to see Sherlock holding the fabric and tugging on it slightly.

"Don't leave," he whispered softly, his blue gray eyes looking up at John.

The raw emotion in Sherlock's made Johns breath catch, and his heart ache a little bit. He didn't know what had happened to change Sherlock so drastically, but the more he saw what had happened to him the less he really wanted to know.

John shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed, "I won't," he whispered, "I'll stay as long as you need me."

Sherlock watched him, his eyes full of doubt before adjusting his grip on the cuff of John's sleeve. I drew in a deep breath and let it slowly letting his eyes fall shut. John watched as his chest rose and fell before pushing his black hair out of his face and rubbing his cheek soothingly. "What happened to you Sherlock?" he asked.

-x-

Mycroft stared into his brother's room, a scowl on his face. "I thought you said he was awake," He said looking over at John.

"He was," the doctor replied, flipping a page in the paper, "but he's still recovering so see needs a lot of sleep."

The older Holmes glared into the room again. He wanted to talk to his brother, to make sure he was really alright. He was mad, but he wanted Sherlock to be alright, and he would kill anyone who hurt him. He watched Sherlock as he slept for a moment longer before turning to John. "You care for him…more than in a friend sort of relationship."

John tried not to bristle at the comment, but he couldn't help it. At the way Mycroft nodded, he had seen it too. "And?"

"And nothing," He said looking back at Sherlock, "It's the only reason I've allowed him to stay here."

"What do you mean?" He snapped, the paper forgotten and being crushed in his hands.

"I mean Mr. Watson that I want the best care for my brother. No matter what kind of problems Sherlock and I may have I still love him and want only the best for him. If you didn't care for him the way you do I would have taken him and had one of my doctors treat him."

"You're not taking him away from here."

Mycroft raised a brow and grinned, "Oh I wouldn't dream of it Mr. Watson. That would be suicide." He looked back at Sherlock, "The fact that he's stayed is testament that he cares for you as well."

John glanced in the direction of Sherlock's room, "I don't understand."

Mycroft gave John a look that resembled one that Sherlock had given him on many occasions when john wasn't as fast to pick up on what Sherlock was trying to tell him. "If Sherlock didn't care for you in any way he would have left. In this type of situation he would do anything for drugs. I when I say anything I do mean anything. "

The doctor hadn't thought of that, and in all honest he felt rather stupid for not thinking of it before. Most drug addicts would have found some way or another out and by now Sherlock could have gotten out of the house, and been halfway around London by now. But he had chosen to stay. A twinge of hope bubbled in John's chest, but he pushed it down not wanting to over think things. He would deal with this when he had to, but not a moment sooner. "Oh…"

"Just some food-for-thought." Mycroft said folding his arms in front of his chest. "Well I had better be off. Do let me know when he wakes up. I have to speak with my little brother when he is a little more coherent."

John nodded and watched as Mycroft made his way down the stairs and out of the house. Sighing he leaned back in his chair and unwrinkled the paper and flipped it back open, trying not to think of what Mycroft had said to deeply. He couldn't let more emotion fill his mind.

TBC…

A/N: So Sherlock woke up…What did you all think? Thank you for all the feedback it was really wonderful and really appreciated :D all mistakes are mine and will be fixed on a later date :D


	3. Progress comes in many shades

Title: No Matter (How much you've changed I'll still love you)  
>Author: Altezio<br>Fandom: Sherlock BBC  
>Pairing: JohnSherlock w/ side pairings along the way  
>Rating: Pg-13 – NC-17<br>Chapters: 3/15  
>Chapter word count: 4,549<br>Disclaimer: I won nothing but the plot. I am just playing in the wonderfully provided sandbox with the wonderful characters.  
>Warnings: Post S2E3, mentions of drug use, mentions of abuse, swearing, eventual mm relationship, sex, and slash. More warnings as the story goes along.  
>Summary: It had been five months since Sherlock had walked off the roof, and John was trying to move on with his life. But then he finds Sherlock laying nearly dead in the gutter on night, and takes him home. But Sherlock isn't the same, and its Johns job to find him again and bring him back.<p>

Chapter Three  
>Progress comes in many shades<p>

John figured this was progress. A week had passed since he had found Sherlock, and while there were some things that they hadn't even started to scratch upon there were little things that helped the doctor know his attempts weren't all in vain. It had taken a bit of coaxing, but John had finally convinced Sherlock to not stay in his room all day. While John sat in his regular chair, the paper in his hand and only half watching the telly, Sherlock was laying on the couch a blanket wrapped around his frail frame. Whenever John looked at him, he was reminded of a large cat. Sherlock's eyes were half closed, and he was resting his chin on the back of one of his hand. He looked very comfortable where he was and it made John happy,

After the dream—that Sherlock still hadn't told John about—Sherlock had seemed paranoid, and flighty. On a couple of occasions John thought he was going to walk into the room to find him gone. Luckily that never happened.

Today Mycroft was due over, and while John was excited at the reunion of the two, he was also rather scared. The Holmes boys butted heads on the best of days, and he couldn't help but worry about it just a little. He glanced away from his paper to look down at his watch then back at Sherlock. Even though the younger man hadn't physically moved any part of his body, John could tell he was ready to spring into action to save himself if he needed to. It pained him to know that while Sherlock was probably more comfortable around him than he was with anyone else; he still felt he had to protect himself from John.

"Sherlock," he said softly. It took a moment before Shrelock looked in his direction but when their eye's made contact he smiled over at him, "It's okay. I was just going to see if you wanted something to eat?"

He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head, "No thank you John." He said his low voice soft.

John nodded and stood. He was thirsty now and tea sounded very good right now. Plus Mycroft would be here any second and it was only being a good host if he had refreshments. Out of the corner of his eye John watched Sherlock as he went to the kitchen. He wished he would open up, and tell him what happened, but he knew there was no way he would tell him so soon…honestly he didn't know if he would tell him at all, but he could hope. Mentally it would probably be healthier if he got it all out in the open, but he wasn't going to push it unless it became absolutely necessary.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs alerted John of Mycrofts presence. Turning he walked out of the kitchen and went to greet the older Holmes, not failing to notice that ridged lines of Sherlocks body. He still had yet to move from his seemingly relaxed posture, but John knew better.

"Mycroft," John said in way of greeting as the other man stepped into the room.

Mycroft gave a slight smile before looking over at Sherlock. He stared down at the younger man for a long moment before speaking, "So I see you've finally woken up."

Sherlock shifted and looked up at his older brother, "As it would seem."

John wanted to hit himself. What had he been thinking? Why had he let these two men in the same room, especially while Sherlock was still recovering! John was just about to say something when Mycroft kneeled down in front of his brother with the softest expression on his face John had ever seen on his face. John watched in amazement—and a little bit of jealousy—as the tension seemed to melt away from Sherlock's posture.

"We were all worried about you baby brother," he whispered softly.

Sherlock didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. If John could easily read what the younger man was trying to convey, then he was damn certain that Mycroft could. The older Holmes smiled and gently rubbed his brothers head, "Please don't do that again." He sighed pressing his lips to Sherlock's brow. The two stayed like that for a few moment before Mycroft pulled away and looked over at John, "May I speak with you privately Mr. Watson?"

John blinked in mild surprise before leading him down the stairs. He glanced back worriedly but continued down the stairs, till they were out of the street. "Hurry, I don't want to leave him alone."

Mycroft smiled and sighed. "Don't worry Mr. Watson. He's not going anywhere."

Furrowing his brows John asked, "What do you mean?"

The older Holmes waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, "Nothing, nothing." He said, "Anyways I have something for you." Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out a small folded envelope and handed it to John, "This should be enough for a while. "

John took the offered item and looked at it questioningly before looking up in confusion at Mycroft. The other man gave him an expectant look and gestured for him to open it. After a moment of hesitation John pulled the tape that held the envelope sealed and looked inside. It was a check. He looked from the check to Mycroft a few times before finally being able to speak again.

"What's this?"

Mycroft smiled a thin, tight lipped smile, "I see now what Sherlock meant, by not seeing." He commented offhandedly, "It's a check dear John."

"I know it's a check," John snapped defensively, "But what for?"

"A just question," he laughed, "It's for the care of my brother. It only seems right since you are taking care of him. And in doing so you are missing work. It is only right to compensate you for your lost wages."

John shook his head. He didn't want to look the gift horse in the mouth—or whatever the saying was—but how could he not especially in a situation such as this one. John looked back down at the check before speaking, "This is a lot more than my salary would have provided me."

Another tight lipped smile, "Oh I know Mr. Watson. Call the rest…spending money." Mycroft laughed to himself. "don't spend it all in one place." And then he was gone, heading back up to where his younger brother was. John stared at the check for a moment longer, before slipping it into his back pocket and heading back up the stairs.

-x-

Sherlock was going crazy and John could tell. After Mycroft had left John had gone back to watching the telly. Since Sherlock hadn't really reached out towards him, he had taken to ignoring him and letting him relax and deal with the stress of the day. He didn't know Sherlock's mental state, but he knew he was fragile and dealing with today probably had taken a lot out of him.

He had honestly thought he would have fallen asleep, but when he looked over he saw the younger man sitting on the couch, his body curled in a tight ball, and his hands shaking. His body was pale, and sweat clung to his skin. John sighed softly and pushed himself into a standing position before walking over to him. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock jerked his head up and stared up at him his pupils blown so John could hardly see the pale blue grey of his eyes. He could see just how much Sherlock was shaking and it made John wish there was something he could do. "It hurts," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around his stomach.

"What hurts Shrelock?"

"Everything,"

John sighed. He couldn't really do anything for him. At this point most of what he was experiencing was either phantom pains, or pain caused from the withdrawal. He had yet to go through all the symptoms that usually came from drug addiction, and in all honesty he was rather afraid of what would happen when he did. Reaching up he ran a hand through Sherlock's hair. "I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Please make it stop." He whispered, "please."

John had never heard Sherlock beg, and to he never wanted to hear it again. "Hold on," he said, "I can get you something that will put you to sleep. That's all I can do for you."

Sherlock nodded, "Please,"

Standing John walked out of the room and ran up the stairs and into his room. It took him a moment of searching, but finally he found what he was looking for in a small vial. Popping it open he poured out two pills and hurried back downstairs. "Here," he said handing Sherlock the pills.

Sherlock took them and tried to relax into the couch. John watched as Sherlock's body went from ridged from pain, to more relaxed. John smiled softly and rubbed Sherlock's head, "That should help a bit." He said. It wouldn't put him to sleep, but it would make him not all there. He watched as Sherlock's eyes slowly started to droop before leaning back. "Do you feel better?"

Sherlock nodded, "Yes," he whispered, "thank you John."

"Don't mention it Sherlock."

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment, "Most people wouldn't be as kind as you are."

John blinked surprised at Sherlock actually talking, "W-what?"

The younger man rubbed his face against the couch cushion, "I mean if it were anyone else…they would have left me there to die without even caring. "

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do John." He sighed, "People have told me…and who would really take care of an addicted former consulting detective that has been shown as nothing more than a fraud."

"Well I took you."

Sherlock looked up at him, an unreadable look in his eye. A small smile played across his lips and he buried his face into the blanket he had pulled around him. "So you did."

John smiled, "Get some rest Sherlock. I'll see you when you're feeling better."

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. John watched him for a moment longer before standing and walking back to his chair and sat down. He looked over at Sherlock before smiling to himself and looking back at the telly. Slowly Sherlock opened his eyes and looked in Johns direction, "Thank you John."

-x-

The symptoms finally started about a day and a half later. Sherlock had made his temporary home right next to toilet. He refused to eat anything no matter how much John tried to get him to get something down he refused. How he had anything in his stomach to puke out was beyond John. He winced as Sherlock gagged again and spat into the toilet. As soon as he was sure he wasn't going to hurl again, Sherlock slunk down and pressed his heated face against the cool bathroom floor. John leaned down and pressed his hand against Sherlock's sweat slicked skin. He was over heated, but his body was shaking violently. Every time John tried to put a blanket over him he would moan in discomfort and push it off.

He didn't want to give him anything for fear of making him worse, but he had been tempted to on several occasions. The look on Sherlock's face broke his heart. It was filled with so much pain and a little bit of self-loathing. John let out a worried breath, before sinking down the floor and pulling Sherlock towards him and laid his head on his lap. His hands carded through Sherlock's dark curls and down his back. He listened to Sherlock's heavy breathing trying to make it level out with his touch.

"Distract me John." He gasped out when he had finally caught his breath.

"What?"

"Distract me. Talk about something meaningless, and random."

"Uhh, well your brother wants to come and see you again. He's worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. You are far from fine." John said giving him a stern look, "You are far from it. I don't know what all is wrong with you, but we really need to talk about it."

Sherlock shook his head, "I don't want to."

John released a breath. He didn't want to upset the younger man any more than he already was, but there were things that needed to be talked about or he would never get better, "I know you don't want to Sherlock, but this is nonnegotiable. It has to be done. I don't want to find you dead or gone because I didn't do something that could have saved your life."

The doctor watched as Sherlock stared off into nothing for a long moment, before shifting and looking back up at John. "Please don't make me tell you."

"You need to talk about it."

Sherlock stared up at John. His heart was pounding in his ears, and it felt like his stomach had dropped to his feet. He didn't want to tell John everything that happened to him. He was ashamed of it, and wanted to forget it himself. He knew if he told John everything the doctor would look at him differently…and he didn't think he could handle that. John was the only person he actually cared about when it came to what was thought about him. He had been to hell and back and that wasn't something he wanted to share with anyone. "I can't."

"It's not that you can't, it's that you don't want to." John sighed. When Sherlock turned away from John the older man sighed and rubbed his temple, "We'll talk about it."

-x-

A week had passed since the symptoms had started and Sherlock was finally starting to feel and look a bit better. He still had the occasional craving, but not as bad was when he first woke up, and the ache while annoying was manageable. As long as he stayed asleep during most of the day everything was better. He had avoided talking to John about what had happened to him, but he knew eventually there would be no way around it. He cared deeply for John, and he could see how it was affecting him by not telling him. Sighing he stood and walked slowly over to the closet. He needed some fresh air, and there was a chance he could sneak out without John knowing for a while.

He looked at the clothes in his closet for a moment before pulling out a pair of jeans and a large hoodie. Slipping on a pair of shoes and walked out of his room. He quietly walked past the sleeping John who had fallen asleep a little more than an hour ago, and slipped out of the room and down the stairs. He listened to Johns quiet snores as he descended the stairs, knowing freedom was only moments away. He was almost to the door when he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice.

"John dear is that you?"

Sherlock pressed his body against the wall, and held his breath. He was low enough on the steps that he could see her, but she couldn't see him so he watched as she poked her head around the corner and looked around before shrugging and walking back into her apartment. Sherlock waited a few minutes before slowing making his way down the stairs. He quietly pushed the door open and slipped out into the afternoon light. He stood in front of 221B for a long moment before turning and heading down the street.

-x-

John yawned and stretched, loving the feeling of his bones popping from a good nap. He relaxed back into chair giving his body a little more time to really wake up. He glanced over at the couch, his brows furrowing when he didn't see Sherlock sitting there. Usually around this time Sherlock would be awake and lounging on the couch. They didn't often say much to each other, but it made John feel better when he could see that Sherlock wasn't still bed ridden.

After a moment more of thought John stood and walked towards Sherlock's room. The door was slightly ajar, and as he got closer a feeling of dread started to grow in the pit of his stomach. He stood outside the door for a moment before pushing it open and staring in shock at the empty bed. Sherlock was gone. Where had he gone, and how long ago was it. John couldn't have been asleep for a more than a couple of hours. But depending on when he left Sherlock could be anywhere, doing anything!

Running his hands through his hair he let out a harsh breath and ran back into the living room. He paced back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. Chewing on his lip he grabbed his phone from out of his pocket and dialed Mycroft's number.

The older Holmes answered on the second ring, "Mr. Watson. What do I owe the pleasure?"

"He's gone. I can't find him! I think he left."

John was met with silence, and that troubled him. Biting his lip, he listened to the slight sound of Mycroft breathing, "I'll be right over."

-x-

Sherlock looked around the empty street, before his eyes traveled up the long lines of the rickety looking building. He hadn't been here in months, but he was sure everything was still the same. Pulling his hood closer around him he hurried across the street, and into the building. Inside it was cold—the heat still wasn't working—and slightly damp, but it was shelter enough from the coming rain. Slowly Sherlock walked to the front desk and hit the bell.

"Coming!" a voice called from the little office that was off to the side, "Sorry, sorry I'm almost the-" as the older man walked out of the office, the smile that had been there only moments ago slipped from his face as he looked at Sherlock. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled slightly, "Mr. Jackson. It's been a long time."

The older man nodded, "yes…yes it has…I never thought you would come back…well I never thought you would come back looking like you do know. You don't look as starved."

The younger man just smiled and shrugged slightly, "Someone thinks it's in my best interest to get better."

Mr. Jackson smiled, "Well cheers to them. I'm glad you have someone to look after you Sherlock. I was worried about you."

Sherlock gave the other man a tight smile, "I would stay longer but…I should be heading back before John wakes up and finds me gone."

The older man smiled, "John?" he asked in the tone of voice an elderly person would use when one was talking about a lover or a crush, "Who is this John?"

Sherlock blinked and shook his head, "Nobody." He said looking away.

Mr. Jackson raised a brow, a small smile on his face. He had no children of his own, and when Sherlock had been here, they had bonded quite nicely. While most thought he was just a senile old man, Sherlock actually saw something else in him and after that they started talking almost nonstop. He had seen the look on Sherlock's face plenty of times. It was his avoidance look. It was also the look he got when he talked about his past with a man who he refused to name. The older man suspected this John character was the person who Sherlock cared about more than anyone.

Laughing Mr. Jackson folded his arms in front of his chest, "Alright then," he said, "Just don't let him slip away."

Sherlock was about to ask what he meant by that, but the man was walking back into the office, "I thought you would be wanting this," he said when he walked back out with a case in his hand, "I got it when those men came and ransacked your apartment."

Sherlock smiled, "That's exactly what I came back for." He said setting the case on the counter and popped it open. With careful hands he lifted the instrument from the case and ran his fingers down its length. Judging from everything that was in his room, he highly doubted John had gotten rid of any of his stuff including his old violin, but he just had an incredible urge to have this one back. Looking back up at the man he smiled, "Thank you Mr. Jackson."

"It was no trouble." He said, "don't be a stranger though. I have missed our discussions."

Sherlock nodded, "As have I," He said as he set the violin back into the case, and closed it.

Turning, Sherlock headed towards the door only to be stopped once more by Mr. Jackson, "Don't forget what I said though Sherlock." He said.

Sherlock gave him a questioning look and tilted his head, "And that was?"

"Don't let this John person slip away. I can tell you care for him. Let him in. He obviously cares about you a great deal, so don't let him slip away."

The younger man stared at him for a long moment before turning and walking out of the building. Sherlock didn't listen to a lot of people, but he was tempted to listen to Mr. Jackson. He liked John. He liked him a lot. He knew he needed to get over his fear of letting people in, but it was hard. He knew most people would judge him if they knew everything he had suffered through, but by not letting John in, he was pushing him away, and he couldn't do that. Now that he was back in John's presence he realized how much it would hurt him if John walked away from him.

Releasing a breath he started back towards 221B. He could have gotten a taxi, but the rain was soothing. It was like it washed away every bad thing, every wrong touch, every bad decision he had every made in his life. Pulling his hood down he looked up and let the rain roll down his face. He stood in the middle of the street for a few minute, just letting the rain wash everything away before heading back home.

It took him far longer to get home than it had to get to where he had been heading. It also didn't help that he refused to go through the alley ways. He couldn't help but fear if he met one of his dealers he would be easily swayed back into the habits that had almost killed him. He knew he would eventually end up giving in if they presented him with the chance, but he could just imagine the look on Johns face if he found him again…he was also sure John wouldn't take him in if he found him lying in the gutter for a second time.

With those thoughts in mind, Sherlock picked up his face till he was almost running. By the time he arrived on the steps of the flat, he was out of breath. He leaned against the door, his chest heaving, and his eyes closed. When it was a little easier to breath, Sherlock turned around and opened the door and stepped in.

"SHERLOCK?"

The man jumped and looked up to see John running down the stairs, his face full or worry and a little bit of anger. "Joh-"

"Sherlock Holmes! Don't you _ever_ do that again! I was worried sick about you! Where the hell have you been?" he asked, "Look at you! You're soaked to the bone. Get up stairs this instant," Sherlock didn't have time to protest. John was pushing him up the stairs and into the flat where he left him standing and dripping all over the floor. Moments later John emerged from the bathroom and tossed a towel at Sherlock with the command to dry himself off before disappearing into Sherlock's room once more.

"You shouldn't have made him worry like you did." A voice said from beside him making him jump again. Looking over he was rather surprised to see Mycroft sitting in one of the chairs, his hands folded neatly on his lap. Sherlock swallowed and rubbed the towel over his soaked head. "Sherlock, I'm serious. You shouldn't have worried him. It was very selfish of you."

Sherlock scowled beneath the towel and turned away from his brother, "It wasn't my intention."

"Be it your intention or not, you still did it." The older man berated, "He was worried sick. I thought he was going to have a heart attack."

Sherlock sighed and pulled the towel away from his head. He glanced towards the room where John had disappeared into. He hadn't meant to scare the other man. He just needed some fresh air, and then he wanted his violin. John walked back into the room, a fresh set of clothes in hand, and pushed at Sherlock till he went into the bathroom.

The younger man was about to say something when John held up his hand, "Don't." he said his voice low, "Don't you dare say that you're sorry. I don't want to hear it. Because I know once you say those words I won't be mad at you anymore."

"But I am."

John paused in filling up the tub and sighed, resting his hands on the sides of the tub. "You can't do that Sherlock. I've lived five months thinking you were dead…and now you come back, and I just can't stand the thought of you running away again." He turned his body and looked at the other man, "You have to think about someone other than yourself Sherlock."

He had hurt John, and he could tell. He had never really cared who he upset until John, and now he had made the only person he had cared about upset. Looking down he nodded, feeling very much like a scolded child. He wanted to tell John that he was sorry, but he didn't want to upset John even further so he settled with asking: "Will you forgive me?"

John stared at him for a long moment before nodding a small smile on his face, "I can't stay mad at you for very long anyways." He said, "Now take a bath, so we can get you warmed up. I have no doubt that you'll have a chill in the morning."

TBC…

A/N: WOOT longest chapter so far. Usually I have such a hard time writing long chapters, but for this story I'm having a pretty easy time. I also made this chapter pretty long because I have to go on a road trip down to salt lake tomorrow when I wake up so I wanted to give you a long chapter since I won't be posting for a few days most likely. But who knows I might be able to get the energy to write something while we're driving. I know I'm going to start the next chapter as soon as this is all posted so yeah. Anywho, all mistakes are mine, please tell me what you think yadayadayada :D and thank you for reading :D


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